


baby, you're a rich man (4 people who weren't selling their shares + 1 who was)

by fairy_tale_echo



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everyone's Rooting for a HEA, Everyone's Trying to Get Them Back Together, Fix-It, M/M, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 07:25:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12271710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairy_tale_echo/pseuds/fairy_tale_echo
Summary: It's never been just about the shares. But the shares can be just the beginning.March 3 (Bloomberg) -- One of the four co-founders of Facebook wants to sell as many as 10 million shares in the company, the New York Post reported, citing an unidentified person close to the situation. The four co-founders include Chief Executive Officer Mark Zuckerberg, Chris Hughes, Dustin Moskovitz and Eduardo Saverin. Bloomberg's Margaret Brennan reports. (Source: Bloomberg)





	1. Dustin Moskovitz

**Author's Note:**

> Hello beloveds! I know no one is still reading in this fandom (forever tears can we do a Big Bang again?) but since many fics in this fandom have disappeared (so sad) I started having nerves about something happening to my work at LJ (and have been thinking of locking it) so I wanted to start gathering them all in one publicly accessible place. I was especially worried about this one, since it only ever existed as comment!fic in the kink meme. I also thought this could be a good way to get it nice and cleaned up and have it connected to my other work. This was originally posted there in 2011.
> 
> I had the outline and at least ten pages of the fourth part but the fifth KEPT stumping me. So I dawdled off on the fourth and then just got stuck. But each piece is a complete work in and of itself (and is a separate fix-it fic) so I wanted to share them. And then I thought ... it might even inspire me to finish this (whaaaat) because it always bothered me THIS one came so close to being finished.
> 
> [The original prompt](https://tsn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/3654.html?thread=4410438#t4410438) was someone found the little blurb quoted up there in the summary ^^ and I didn't quite hit their prompt but there was great discussion in the comments and I was then inspired to write a bunch of _"how did that story get out there and what does it mean . . . "_ possibilities. Y'all know me, lol. I included all my fav tropes: dorky Dustin, remorseful asshole with a heart Sean Parker, outside observer of a relationship, and a lovable yenta who longs for a HEA.
> 
> I hope, my dear hearts, this will someday be finished. I know no one is still reading this. I know y'all are all gone, this is the void. But this fandom saved my life, it really did, all the comments and love and people wanting to read my stories and cheering me on, no matter how small we were, and I will forever be grateful. Thank you all so much.

When you love something, when you really  _love_  something, you can't just walk away from it. And, yeah, Dustin knows that maybe some of the people closest to him don't exactly appreciate this truism and never have? But  _he_  knows it's true. He always has.  
  
"This is such bullshit!" he wanted to scream during those stupid fucking depositions, with Wardo and Mark pretending that they were fighting over something as useless as  _money_. Didn't everyone else see what they were actually fighting over?  _Money_? Were there ever two people in the world who cared less about money? Wardo made money watching the weather channel and if Mark was in the middle of a long stretch of coding he wouldn't notice if it was raining $100 bills.   
  
But, no. Everyone pretended it was about the money, and Dustin never screamed anything, and Wardo and Mark just walked away. Well, Dustin was not going to be that guy.  
  
$300 million? He can get that with less than a percent of his shares. If that's what [Nathan Fillion thinks he needs to get  _Firefly_  back](http://insidetv.ew.com/2011/02/17/firefly-returns/), Dustin can make that happen. Man, maybe he'll sell a whole percent and convince Joss to come back when he's done with  _Avengers_.  
  
Of course the story breaks and the media is not so subtly finger-pointing Wardo and, yeah, possibly Dustin should have thought that through? The e-mail from Mark arrives less than fifteen minutes after the story breaks.  
  
_From: Marky-Mark <zuckerberg@facebookadmin.com>_  
 _To: Dustin <browncoat1@gmail.com>_  
  
_God-damn it, Dustin, I know it was you trying to get money to buy Firefly back!_  
  
_To: Marky-Mark <zuckerberg@facebookadmin.com>_  
 _From: Dustin <browncoat1@gmail.com>_  
  
_You can't take the sky from me, Mark._  
  
Dustin thinks that will probably be the end of it. (until he gets the money, of course...) But that night, he's half-dozing while watching  _Serenity_  (what can he say, it's been on his mind the past few days.) when his phone buzzes indicating he's got a new "high importance" personal e-mail. Dustin sighs. Only one person is sending him "high importance" personal e-mails at 3 AM on a Saturday night.

 _To: Dustin <browncoat1@gmail.com>_  
 _From: Marky-Mark <zuckerberg@facebookadmin.com>_  
  
_Do you have any idea what kind of PR disaster this is? What people are saying about the company?_  
  
Oh man. Dustin can't take this. He should have yelled about this years ago. It's time to be a  _real_  browncoat and stand up for the  _right_  side.   
  
_To: Marky-Mark <zuckerberg@facebookadmin.com>_  
 _From: Dustin <browncoat1@gmail.com>_  
  
_The company? Right. Get the fuck over it, Marky. Half the planet is on it, do you think anyone is worried about how this will impact Facebook? You just don't want people talking shit about Wardo. You don't want him to think you're talking shit about him._  
  
_To: Dustin <browncoat1@gmail.com>_  
 _From: Marky-Mark <zuckerberg@facebookadmin.com>_  
  
_I don't know what you're talking about. I am only concerned with the publicity and damage control. I don't care about anything else._  
  
_To: Marky-Mark <zuckerberg@facebookadmin.com>_  
 _From: Dustin <browncoat1@gmail.com>_  
  
_Other people might believe that lie, bro, but you can't fool me. Publicity? FB lived through Beacon, publicity is nothing. Money? Why can't you admit that this isn't about the money? That this has never been about the money?_  
  
_To: Dustin <browncoat1@gmail.com>_  
 _From: Marky-Mark <zuckerberg@facebookadmin.com>_  
  
_It's not that simple._  
  
_To: Marky-Mark <zuckerberg@facebookadmin.com>_  
 _From: Dustin <browncoat1@gmail.com>_  
  
_Yeah, Mark. It really is. It always has been. You two just keep making it complicated. Well, fuck that. Nathan Fillion wants $300 million? I'll get him $300 million. Life's too damn short, Mark, haven't you figured that out yet? You want Wardo? Go get Wardo._  
  
Dustin doesn't hear anything else from Mark, or from Facebook proper, for the next three days. Part of him wants to reach out and apologize, but he's not quite sure what he'd be saying sorry for. The business world is still non-stop jabbering about the stock sale and  _what it all means!_  Facebook still hasn't released a comment. He's probably gonna have to address that sooner or later. Maybe he can wait until he gets the money and then use it as extra leverage to pressure 20th Century Fox.   
  
Then Dustin notices what seems like an off-hand mention in one of his Google alerts:  _Facebook has still not released an official comment on the proposed sale and sources at the company tell us that CEO Zuckerberg has been out of the office and possibly out of town since the news broke. While we have no outside verification of this report, it does add even more questions to the story._  
  
"No way," Dustin thinks to himself right as his phone buzzes.  
  
_To: Dustin <browncoat1@gmail.com>_  
 _From: Eduardo <saverine@gmail.com>_  
  
_I aim to misbehave._  
  
Damn, just when he thought nothing was going to top his story of giving Nathan Fillion $300 million.   
  
Somehow, stupid grin on his face, he can't be too mad.   
  
Dustin, after all, is a guy who loves reunion shows.


	2. Sean Parker

When the news of the movie ( _a fucking movie!_ ) broke Sean had to admit he was pretty happy. OK, yes, it was based on the book, which wasn't so great, but Aaron Sorkin did the adaption and everyone in Hollywood loved it. And before you know it, they've cast  _Justin fucking Timberlake_  as him and some British guy no one's ever heard of as Saverin and the kid from  _Arrested Development_  as Mark and, fine, now Sean's fucking PUMPED for the movie. It's myth-making, yeah, and he's OF COURSE going to disassociate himself from it because that's how myth-making works? But he's still pretty excited.  
  
But it doesn't turn out quite the way he imagined.  
  
Everyone was worried Mark was gonna be the bad guy, that Mark was gonna come off as some anti-social-pathetic-loser-asshole. But  _no_. It turns out,  _Sean_  is the one comes off as an asshole. A paranoid, weirdo asshole, by the way. Thanks to OSCAR NOMINEE JESSE EISENBERG (who Sean now totally knows is  **not**  the kid from  _Arrested Development_ , OK?) Mark comes off as a rebel genius trying to change the world while also  _personally_  trying to connect with the world and making mistakes any 19 year old would make. Thanks to Justin Timberlake, Sean comes off as a  _life-ruiner_.  
  
How is this fair?  
  
Sean's not that guy from the movie, that's one thing he knows. And, yeah, OK, maybe he took a tiny, little bit of advantage of the fact that Eduardo was in love with Mark and Mark was in love with Eduardo and both of them were too fucking stupid to do anything about it or say anything about it but ... I mean, honestly, does that make him a  _life-ruiner_?!   
  
Well, there's only one thing to do. He'll have to get Mark and Eduardo together (fucking  _finally_ , right?) and THEN somehow leak the story about his involvement to the press.   
  
Man, Justin Timberlake is making Sean's life so fucking hard.

\--

The sale is lighting up Bloomberg the next morning just like Sean planned. It had run just as he wished. 10 million shares, $300 million, and (this was the important part) "founder." Oh sure, if Mark sat down and thought about it (if anyone sat down and thought about it) they'd see it didn't  _have_  to be a founder, just an original investor. But that's not how Sean had planted the story. Besides, he knew thanks to the movie everyone was ripe for a  _story_ , a  _narrative_. Now it was time for him to give Mark exactly that.  
  
Mark's looking extraordinarily frazzled by the time the Sean strolls into the offices, casual-like. (how convenient that he had been visiting the west coast when all this happened!) Mark's secretary waves him in with a look bordering on desperation.  
  
"Mark, I saw the news."  
  
Mark is pacing back and forth, which Sean knows is truly a sign of distress. He's trying to burn off extra energy in a way that doesn't involve coding. For Mark this is a CODE LEVEL RED threat. Sean can practically hear Mr. Burns in his head.  _Excellent_.  
  
"This is fucking ridiculous, Sean. Fucking  _ridiculous_. I've been on it all morning and I still haven't gotten anywhere."  
  
Sean wonders if he should point out the story broke at 3 AM PST and it's all of 9:30 now. No, best not to derail him.  
  
"Well, Mark who do you -" (he speaks extra slow so Mark can cut him off.)  
  
"No one. It's a bullshit story, someone planted it. It has to be a plant, OK?"  
  
"Gee, Mark, that doesn't seem likely. Why would someone do that? It seems more likely that it's true," Sean keeps his tone conciliatory.   
  
Mark sputters with disbelief then launches into a full-fledged rant that's quick enough to sound like Aaron Sorkin wrote it. "OK, because it's not Chris, he doesn't even  _have_  10 million shares. And it's not Dustin because Dustin doesn't need the money and he'd tell me if it was him and I already called him at 4 AM and he promised me it wasn't him. And it's sure as hell not me, so someone planted this bullshit story as a way to make investors panic and -"  
  
Now Sean gets to interrupt Mark. He'll pretend he's not relishing it. "Mark," he says cautiously "aren't you forgetting someone?"  
  
And just like that, Mark stops dead in his tracks, quits pacing, and drops, like a lead weight, to his office couch.  
  
He practically whispers "He wouldn't sell, I just know he wouldn't ... do that. It  _can't_  be him, Sean. It  _can't_  be."  
  
This is already going so much better than Sean planned.

"I dunno, Mark. Why don't you think he'd sell? It's not like he has any reason -" Sean speaks slowly, levelly.   
  
"He just  _wouldn't_!" Mark's voice is shrill. (Perfect. Shrill is so perfect for what Sean has planned next.) "He ... he was at the last shareholder meeting, remember? He hasn't been to one in, like, a year. But he was here and ... he wouldn't sell. Facebook isn't just  _stock_ , Sean. Not to Wardo."  
  
Sean cocks his head to one side as if he is carefully considering this, as if he hasn't noticed how Mark is running his hands through his hair, how he slipped up and used  _Wardo_. "Well, Mark, maybe that's  _why_  he was at the shareholder meeting? Maybe  _Ed_ uardo," Sean carefully stresses the first syllable "was thinking about selling and he wanted to come get information beforehand."  
  
Sean continues, trying to keep his voice disinterested. "I mean, it's only, what, a tenth of a percent? Maybe he really needs the capital. Maybe he's planning something huge. Maybe he's  _in trouble_. Or maybe, I dunno, he wants to do something BIG. Like ... marry that girl he's been seeing."  
  
Mark actually yelps out loud at this suggestion.  _Brilliant_.  
  
The best part of Sean's plan is how little sense it makes when you sit down and think about it. Why does it have to be a co-founder? Why would anyone need $300 million to have a freaking wedding? Is Eduardo even seeing anyone? Why would Eduardo show up at a shareholder meeting and then decide to sell of a tenth of a percent of stock?   
  
But as Sean had figured out from their very first dinner, that's always been Mark's problem when it comes to Eduardo. Mark, who is better at sitting down and thinking about things than any person Sean has ever met, completely loses this ability when it comes to Eduardo Saverin. Sean has used this to his advantage in the past, sure. But now he's going to use that to  _Mark's_ advantage. Because, like, he's cupid and a humanitarian and he just wants to right some wrongs because he's cool like that. (and because he deserves some good PR too, OK?)  
  
"It can't be any of those things," Mark grits out. "I would KNOW if it were any of those things. I  _would_."  
  
"Well, Mark. If you know it's not Chris or Dustin or you and the report said it was a founder, I mean, I guess the only thing to do is just forget all about it. There's nothing you can do anyway," Sean shrugs his shoulders carelessly.  
  
 _wait for it, wait for it, wait for it_  
  
"No." Mark's voice is suddenly steady, steel. Sean's heard this voice before. This is the voice that means Mark is serious, there's no more fucking around. This is the voice that's all about being wired in and never settling and pushing forward. This is the exact voice Sean was looking for.  
  
"No, Sean. I  **can**  do something about this. I'll talk to Eduardo."  
  
"I don't know, Mark. Are you sure a phone call is the best way to approach it? What if he thinks  _you're_  the one selling and you're just messing with him? It'd be way too easy for him to just hang up, right?"  
  
Mark stands up and squares his shoulders. Oh yes, Sean knows JUST what this stance means.   
  
"Phone call? I didn't say anything about a phone call. You're right, that would be a mistake. I'm going to Singapore."  
  
Sean gave the statement a moment to reverberate, to let Mark think he was processing the enormous surprise of it all. (That's what Mark needed, after all.) "Well, if you're  _sure_..." Sean says, trailing off again, giving Mark another opening.  
  
"Never been more sure," Mark declares. He nods decisively at Sean and walks straight out his office door without a second glance backwards. Sean hears him tell his assistant, "I'm going to need the plane."  
  
Sean can't help but think what a genius he is. There's only a few steps left but the next one's gonna be tricky because now? Now Sean has to prep Eduardo Saverin.

Sean shakes Mark's hand once before he strides out of the office.  _I mean, if you think this is for the best, I support you totally!_  he says.  
  
Then he ambles to his own office. It's the middle of the night in Singapore, which is exactly the perfect time for what he has planned next.  
  
 _To: Eduardo Saverin  
You're such a dick! Selling your shares! (this is Sean, btw.)_  
  
He has a feeling this text message will wake Eduardo up. He probably hasn't even heard the news about the sale, so it will be extra disorienting. And he's come on strong, which always works best with Eduardo.   
  
That first dinner, Sean had really only had one goal. Learn everything he could about Mark Zuckerberg. But it turned out he was going to need to learn everything he could about Eduardo Saverin too. And he had both those guys all mapped out by the time he was signing the bill. He knew from the first night that Eduardo had good ideas, one of them being making money. Sean liked money! Sean wanted to make money! Eduardo was just thinking about it the wrong way. If Sean couldn’t get him to think about it the  _right_  way well, yeah, then Eduardo was going to have to go.  
  
Look, he never wanted Eduardo completely shut out. That's fiction and useless besides. He was never going to get 30% and he didn't want it anyhow. He just wanted Eduardo to  _step up_. That's all. Step up and start taking big investors seriously, step up and get out to California. That summer, Sean realized that if Eduardo would come out to California, well, he'd see there was money to be made, he'd chill out, and he'd  _step up_.   
  
At first, the night Eduardo showed up soaking wet looked like it was going to be a positive turning point in the “step up” campaign. He’d  _hoped_  that Mark and Eduardo were going to retreat to the hallway and  _finally_  have semi-angry, desperate-glad-to-see-you make-up sex.   
  
Then Eduardo would stop being jealous, keep pumping money in until an angel investor came through,  _and_ , most importantly, help Mark act more like a normal human being which would keep him on track. Win-win from Sean’s point of view.   
  
But that didn’t quite turn out the way Sean imagined.  
  
Once Eduardo froze the account, it was all over. Sean had bet wrong. Eduardo wasn’t going to step up and he and Mark were going to keep pretending that all there was between them was business. Fine by Sean, it just meant the plan changed.   
  
Mark was so angry about the account that all Sean had to do was mention the dilution and Mark was nodding along. (Part of Sean, yes, was tempted to shout out  _“Jesus Mark, it’s not because of the account, it’s because you want him to come out here and kiss you, come on!”_  But it was a tiny part and he pushed it down.)   
  
Sean had hoped that Eduardo could be an asset but freezing the account made it clear he was a liability, if for no other reason than because his and Mark’s inability to broach their feelings made Mark unfocused and  _weak_. Facebook could survive a lot of things but a weak Mark Zuckerberg was not one of them. Sean was going to have to make Mark  _tough_.  
  
Now, years later, Sean wonders if maybe making Mark tough was the right thing to do. If that was what had happened at all. Sean’s never really thought that before but, in a flash, he thinks back to that night in the rental house and how Mark’s eyes had lit up seeing Eduardo standing there.  
  
Sean’s plan suddenly seems to be much bigger, much more important, than just getting himself a slight PR makeover. Which means that he’s got to make  _extra_  sure it goes off without a hitch. And for that to happen he needs Eduardo to respond to him. Now. Right now.  
  
Sean Parker is not the kind of person who makes plans lightly. He makes labyrinthine and complicated plans that are things of beauty. And now? He  _really_  needs this one to turn out he really needs – his phone starts buzzing and Sean’s hand do not shake, not in the slightest, when he picks it up.  
  
 _From: Eduardo Saverin  
You have got to be fucking kidding me._  
  
Perfect.

 _To: Eduardo Saverin  
It's all over the news! Check out Bloomberg!_  
  
Sean gives it a few minutes, imagines Eduardo blinking quickly, flipping through the Internet on his phone, half-awake, not quite sure this is really happening. Perfectly off-guard for what Sean has in store for him.  
  
Less than five minutes later Sean phone is buzzing again. When he picks it up, it's even better than he'd dared to hope. Not just a text message, not even a call, his iPhone now reads  _Eduardo Saverin would[like FaceTime](http://www.apple.com/iphone/features/facetime.html)_. Sean presses the green accept button and cues up an angry face.  
  
There's Eduardo, peering out at him from the other side of the world, his eyebrows knit in confusion, his face half-awake. He looks like he wants to reach through the phone and throttle Sean. Just perfect.  
  
"I had to make sure it was actually, genuinely you and not just some ridiculous joke or nightmare," he sputters before Sean can say anything.  
  
"Hey, man! Fuck you! You're the one that's selling your shares and throwing this whole place into chaos, OK?" Sean defends, so passionately  _he almost believes himself_.  
  
Eduardo looks as if someone's punched him. "I am  _not_  selling anything. I saw the report. None of it even makes sense, really, if you think about it - " Eduardo's face grows thoughtful.  
  
DANGER! Mark won't think about how Sean's plan doesn't make sense, because when it comes to Eduardo, he doesn't think he just  _feels_. But Eduardo, well, when it comes to Mark now days he doesn't feel anymore, he just  _thinks_. (yes, Sean is aware that this is all backwards-crazy and that's what's he's trying to fix, OK?) Best to cut Eduardo off and get him  _feeling_.  
  
"Oh, it makes perfect sense, Saverin! Did you think Mark wouldn't see what you're trying to do?"  
  
There's the magic word! At  _Mark_  Eduardo's face locks up.   
  
"Mark?" He says, slowly. "Mark knows about - wait. I'm not trying to do anything!"  
  
(Sean spares a second to appreciate that he'd just almost convinced Eduardo that it was Eduardo selling the shares. Damn, Parker, you're the best.)  
  
"He knew that was why you'd attended the last shareholder meeting! So you could get info for the sale!"  _(thanks for that tidbit, Mark.)_  
  
Eduardo's face drained of all color. "That's not why I came. I just wanted to ... is that what he thinks?"  
  
"Well," Sean says, trying to make his tone considering "he didn't say that, exactly. He said he had hoped you came because you wanted to, well, that part didn't make any sense," Sean shrugs.  
  
And Eduardo, Sean can see how hard he's trying, but he can't help it. He clutches his phone and leans in just a little closer, as if that'll make Sean talk, as if that'll bring him there. "What do you mean? What did he say?"  
  
"I don't know if I should -"  
  
"God-damn, Sean! You started this! You texted me! Tell me what he said!" Eduardo is shouting.  
  
"He mentioned that you hadn't been to a shareholder meeting in a long time, but that he  _noticed_ ," Sean tries to emphasize the word without being too obvious "that you were at the last one. He said he had  _hoped_  that you were there to actually talk, but now he thought it was about selling your shares."  
  
In this moment, Sean loves Apple and Steve Jobs more than he loves Mark Zucerkberg and Mark Zuckerberg helped make him a billionaire, man. But because of Steve Jobs and Apple and FaceTime, Sean can see the way Eduardo's face falls in on itself, how he has a split-second wince of disbelief, how Sean's words have hit home.  
  
 _Now we're talking,_  thinks Sean  _now we're_  feeling!

"I'm not selling any shares," Eduardo practically whispers, more than half to himself.  
  
"Well then," Sean pauses as if he slowly being won over to Eduardo's side. "why  _did_  you come to the last shareholder meeting?"   
  
And then there is a long silence while Eduardo refuses to meet Sean's eyes across all the miles, when Eduardo looks down and Sean can see how tired he truly is, not just because Sean woke him up in the middle of the night, but because of maybe something much bigger.  
  
"I wanted to talk. To try to really talk but Mark - I didn't even know he'd noticed I was there."  
  
And Sean isn't even lying when he says "He did. I know he did."  
  
Eduardo makes a noise that could almost pass for a laugh if it wasn't so bitter. "Why the fuck am I talking to you about this?"  
  
The element Sean likes best about this part of his plan is how he gets to just keep telling the truth. "Um, because you know I've always known the truth about all this?"  
  
There's that sound again, dark and hopeless. "Oh yeah, Sean? So then why don't you tell me the truth, huh? Why don't you do that thing you love to do where you tell some big story and you tell the truth about what you think you know about -"  
  
Sean cuts in smoothly. "You love him and he loves you and you've loved each other since, I don't know, like freshman year? You never hooked up, but you both wanted to and I'm betting there's a night sophomore year after the site went live and got big you two got drunk and almost kissed and you both still think about it all the time." Sean takes a quick breath and continues. "So, all that's why he freaked out when he thought you were selling and why you freaked out when you thought he freaked out. And you were always jealous of me, but it was never about that for me and him, because he always wanted you and he still does."   
  
Eduardo gasps and blinks and basically just stares at Sean.  
  
And see? If Sean had told anyone his brilliant plan included so much fucking  _truth_  he's honestly sure they would have forgiven all the lies that went along with it.  
  
That doesn't keep Eduardo from hanging up, though.

Sean gives it two to three minutes and he's expecting an angry text message but, no, it's so much better. It takes less than a minute and Eduardo wants FaceTime. How sweet it is!  
  
Sean accepts, of course. Eduardo's eyes on the other side of the world are fever-bright and, well,  _shiny_. Shiny with tears, Sean realizes. For the first time he started this whole thing, Sean feels ... weird. He feels a twinge of ... is this guilt? Is this, ugh, his  _conscience_? Mentally, Sean shakes it off.  _Pull it together, Parker_  he tells himself  _it's game-time, this is for the greater good._  
  
He just stares, waiting for Eduardo to make the first move. He listens to him take a few ragged breathes. "How did you...how did you..." he gasps out.  
  
"Oh, I used my amazing deductive powers such as 'having eyes' and 'being a sentient human with powers of observation.' You know, like magic." He hopes his virtual eye-roll comes across in his tone.  
  
Eduardo winces, so Sean thinks it does. "You and he - you never -"  
  
Sean's rendered him unable to complete a sentence, such victory. "It wasn't like that. He only ever wanted  _you_  that way."   
  
(Sean's not actually bitter about that. He wanted a lot from Mark Zuckerberg, that's true, but he never wanted him like that. Mostly because while Sean was totally down with the queer community, it wasn't his scene. But there was also the way Mark basically vibrated with want for Eduardo. Sean's not stupid, OK?)  
  
Now when you have a plan in place as elaborate as the one Sean's created? You need to be ready for every eventuality, you need to be prepared for anything that might happen. That's actually one of Sean's skills, being prepared to run with change. So, he really did think he had every angle of this plan covered.  
  
But he honestly didn't count on telling Eduardo what he  _knew was the truth_  about Mark and then seeing Eduardo's face crumple as he gave a low sob and started crying.  
  
 _Fuck_.  
  
"Hey," Sean says "hey, Eduardo, hey - don't, hey!"  
  
Eduardo fumbles with his phone, Sean watches his face slip out of the frame, and then Eduardo disconnects FaceTime.  
  
Sean has no time to waste now.   
  
 _To: Eduardo Saverin  
Are you ... alright? Did you seriously not know?_  
  
Sean's running on a gamble now, but he's betting Eduardo is going to respond.  
  
 _To: Sean Parker  
I just need a few minutes. I didn't ever let myself think ... about it. It was a surprise to hear.  
  
To: Eduardo Saverin  
But you knew, right?  
  
To: Sean Parker  
No, Sean. Of course not, no. I never thought he - he - no. I just need a few minutes._  
  
Well, this part he  _did_  plan for: that Eduardo, when confronted with the glaring obviousness of his and Mark's feelings, would just pretend he'd been totally blindsided.   
  
That meant it was time to pull out one of his secret weapons.

\--

Sean had been visiting the offices on business, he'd taken a reluctant Mark out for drinks one night. Mark had drank too much, gotten loose-lipped and maudlin. As Sean was hauling him into his house, Mark had started talking.   
  
"I told him I needed him, Sean," Mark blurted, his face going red.  
  
Of course Sean knew instantly who Mark was talking about, that part was not a surprise. But the little bit of information Mark had just revealed? OK, Sean had not see THAT coming.   
  
"Eduardo? You actually told Eduardo - when?"   
  
"The night. In the house. When he was mad. With the rain." Mark stumbles.  
  
 _The_  night. The night Sean had actually thought maybe, just maybe, Eduardo was going to step up.  _Interesting_.  
  
Sean got Mark's house unlocked, drug him inside to his couch. They sat down on the couch, side by side.  
  
"So what did he say?" Sean asked.  
  
"He didn't even," Mark slurred "it was like he didn't even hear me. He didn't say anything."  
  
Sean tried to think of a good response but, hey, he was tired and a little drunk himself, so by the time he opened his mouth to respond, Mark had already passed out. They never spoke of that night's confession again but Sean filed the information away. Information was power, after all, and who knew when he might need it?  
  
\--  
  
So Sean gave it a few minutes and then he deployed.  
  
 _To: Eduardo Saverin  
But you _did _know. You knew Mark needed you. He told you that night you flew in when it was raining. He told you, you just didn't listen._  
  
Another endless minute and then, just like Sean hoped the phone buzzes.  
  
 _Eduardo Saverin would like FaceTime_.  
  
So would Sean Parker.

When Eduardo's face comes into focus on Sean's phone, he looks wrecked. His voice is a throaty rasp. "He  _told_  you that?"   
  
"Yeah, he didn't mean to but he told me. He said you acted like you didn't hear him."  
  
Eduardo's mouth twisted into a rictus of pain. "He told me a lot of things that night, Sean. Like how you had set up all these meetings. Like how I was going to get left behind. I guess I just  _missed_  the other part!" His voice is shaking with anger.  
  
"But he said it, Eduardo! He fucking said it!"  
  
"So what, Sean? He still screwed me over, he still shut me out, he-"  
  
"You froze the accounts!"  
  
Eduardo lowers his eyes and an expression crosses his face Sean knows quite well.  _Shame_. "That was a mistake. A really big mistake, I know," he mumbles. "But it didn't justify all of -"  
  
No. No, it didn't justify all that. Part of Sean had always known that. Eduardo was not the CFO Facebook needed and he wouldn't step up. Measures had to be taken. Sean didn't make the dilution happen, OK? But he'd helped talk Mark into it. And that had ended up costing Mark, a guy Sean genuinely liked, a whole lot.   
  
In this second, Sean feels like the stupidest person on the planet. He sees now, in Eduardo's sad face, he sees what this is really all about, has always been about. The movie - it wasn't  _just_ bad PR. It made Sean  _feel_  bad. He wasn't that guy, man. He could be  _better_  than that guy.   
  
Eduardo plowed on ahead, his voice trembling. Sean saw how he has was fighting back tears at the same time he was pushing down anger and confusion. "So he said he needed me and that he w-w-wanted me  _one_  fucking time. What's that mean, Sean, huh? What's that get me? Where the fuck is he now?"  
  
Across all those miles and all those years, Sean now has the answer to that one. "I can tell you where he is. He's on a plane to Singapore, Eduardo."

He won't lie, part of him is expecting Eduardo to hang up on him again. Not this time, though. His face pales for a split-second, but then he meets Sean's eyes and glares. "What - the - fuck - have - you  _done_?"   
  
Finally, finally, someone reading the situation exactly right.  
  
"I didn't do anything," Sean defends.  
  
"Oh God, you  _did_ ," hisses Eduardo. " _You_  planted the story about the shares!"  
  
"Well, OK. I  _did_  do that," Sean shrugs.   
  
"You son-of-a-bitch! Now Mark thinks -"  
  
"Ah no, that's the thing," Sean cuts him off. "Mark refused to believe it was you. How about that? He said Facebook was more than  _shares_  to you, is the thing. He said you'd never sell. So, I might have convinced him, without him knowing I was convincing him, of course, that the only way he could be sure was to go see you in Singapore."  
  
Eduardo gasped. "Why would do that? Why would you do  _any_  of this?"  
  
And now Sean knows the answer.  
  
"Because it's time for you to  _step up_ , Eduardo."  
  
"Step up? Step up? What does that even MEAN?" Eduardo's voice keeps rising, pitching on the last word so he's essentially shouting.  
  
Sean gives him a long, appraising long. "Look, Saverin, that night you showed up in the rain? I thought you were gonna punch me or maybe, I dunno, actually try to engage me somehow? But you didn't. Then you hauled Mark behind closed doors and I thought, yeah, you were gonna finally talk to him about what was happening, you were gonna listen when he said to move out to California. But that didn't happen either. Next thing I know, you froze the accounts and Mark's walking around looking like his puppy died and -"  
  
"I  _told_  you," Eduardo interrupts, his voice shaking "that was a mistake, it didn't make it-"   
  
Sean waves his hand, so glad that Eduardo can see him. "Not the point now. The point now is Mark thought that meant you'd frozen  _him_  out. Of everyone, you gotta know he doesn't have a good separation between self and Facebook. Freezing Facebook was freezing Mark."   
  
He gives it a second to sink in, watches the knowledge break across Eduardo's face.   
  
"I knew if he thought you were selling shares in Facebook, he'd think -"  
  
Now it's Eduardo who cuts him off, murmuring something to himself as if Sean isn't watching, isn't listening, isn't even there. "I was selling  _us_."  
  
"So I took chance that you still cared about there being an  _us_ , because I knew Mark sure as hell did."  
  
And when Eduardo meets his eyes this time, Sean knows he finally has it all figured out. What's the fun being a supervillain if you never get the chance to gloat about your plans?

"I knew," Sean continues, his voice calm and deliberate "I’d have a hard enough time getting him to admit anything, so I decided to scare him using the most reliable Mark-stimuli I know. Facebook. But even then I knew you wouldn't just believe him  _telling_  you. I had to do get him to do something to  _show_  you.”  
  
"He's coming out here because he  _cares_ ," Eduardo says, with something that sounds like wonder in his voice.  
  
"Give the man a great big hand," Sean replies, he hopes not too sarcastically. "The only question now is: what are you going to do about it?"  
  
"I can't just - it doesn't work like that," Eduardo protests.  
  
"I realized when it came to you two this was the only way it was gonna work."  
  
Eduardo's eyes are half-wild when he looks at Sean. "So what am I supposed to do then, Sean? You're apparently the man with the plan."  
  
"Just step up, Eduardo. That's  _all_. Just tell him you wouldn't sell your shares because you  _care_. You always cared and you  _still_  care. He wants to hear it and you want to say it."  
  
"This will never work."  
  
But Eduardo doesn't sound so sure any more. "Tell that to the guy on his way to Singapore."  
  
After all this time, after all this planning, Sean's sorta happy he can still be surprised. And he is. He's surprised when he hears Eduardo laugh, just a little, and this time it's not bitter or mean it's almost optimistic.  
  
\--  
  
That night, Sean is sleeping the sleep of the righteous when his phone starts buzzing. This had better be good. He rolls over, blinks blearily at the screen.  _Eduardo Saverin would like FaceTime_.   
  
Sean sits up in bed, presses accept. Eduardo is outside in the sunshine, grinning from ear to ear. "Not so fun to be woken up in the middle of the night, is it?"  
  
"C'mon," Sean moans, using one hand to rub at his eyes.  
  
Mark pops into the frame. Sean didn't think anyone could have a bigger smile than Eduardo but Mark is doing his best to prove him wrong. "Wake up, Sean! We wanted to return the gift of interrupted sleep."  
  
"Please," Sean snorts "I know what really interrupted your sleep and it wasn't me."  
  
"I think he's suggesting something  _sexual_ ," Mark teases, sliding his gaze over to Eduardo, who is giving Mark what might be the world's soppiest smile.  
  
Sean  _hates_  Steve Jobs and Apple in this moment because even though they're on the literal other side of the Earth Sean must now be subjected to Eduardo and Mark making goo-goo eyes at each other thanks to FaceTime.  
  
"That's enough of that!" Sean practically shrieks.  
  
Eduardo pulls his eyes off Mark and turns to look at Sean. "Oh, sorry, Sean. Did you not want to see this, then?"   
  
In a flash he leans over and starts kissing Mark. Mark lets out a little sigh of surprise and then kisses back.   
  
"Ahhhhhh!" Sean yells in mock horror.  
  
When they pull apart, Sean can see a dazed happiness on both their faces and, OK, maybe he forgives Steve Jobs.   
  
"We just wanted to wake you up," Mark says and, no shit, he sounds happier than Sean's ever heard him.  _Ever_.  
  
"And we wanted to say," Eduardo pauses, looks at Mark then back at Sean "we wanted to say thank you."  
  
Sean puts on his disaffected face, tries not to look like he cares. "Yeah, whatever, I didn't really do anything special, I just -"  
  
"Sean," Mark interrupts "this is the part where you say  _you're welcome_."  
  
Well, fine. If Mark  _insists_  ... Sean can smile, Sean can be happy about what's he's helped make happen, and Sean can say "You're welcome."

\--

epilogue  
  
 _March 9 - The New York Post can exclusively report this morning that not only were rumors of a Facebook founder selling 10 million shares completely unfounded but the news out of Facebook headquarters is actually much more exciting. Sources inside Facebook are hinting that a_ reunion _between the founders is in the works and we're not talking about Asana and Jumo. Our highly placed source indicated that Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg left last week for Singapore to connect with former CFO and co-founder Eduardo Saverin. It's the_ type _of connection that has tongues in Silicon Valley wagging. More information as it becomes available.  
  
March 15 - BREAKING! Rumors last week of a Facebook reunion turned out to be true beyond all expectations when Post photographers caught Mark Zuckerberg and Eduardo Saverin meeting former Facebook President Sean Parker at LaGuardia today. Zuckerberg and Saverin were flying _together _back from Singapore, Saverin's current home. Parker was on hand to greet the couple when they got off the plane. As you can see from the accompanying photos, Zuckerberg and Saverin de-planed holding hands and each embraced Parker in turn. No sources within Facebook were willing to comment about any element of this story and when Post reporters caught the threesome on their way out of the airport Parker and Saverin refused comment as well. Zuckerberg, however, went on record as saying, quote, "All I'm willing to say is that Sean's here to meet us because he's a good friend. Make sure you print that part so Aaron Sorkin and can see, OK?" Academy-Award winner Sorkin, when reached for comment, only laughed and suggested Post reporters contact Justin Timberlake._


	3. Ruth Goldman

The day the news breaks Mark is frantic. Bloomberg won't tell him who their unnamed source is,  _even when he calls personally to ask and is very nice_  and when he decides he's going to hack into their network until he can find the information Janice, his long-suffering head of PR since Chris left, intervenes decisively.  
  
"No, Mr. Zuckerberg," Janice says, firmly "We will NOT be doing that. I will find the person who is selling their shares and I will ... if at all possible I will ... I will bring that person,  _whoever they may be_ , to speak with you. You know, it doesn't have to be a founder, really, Mr. Zuckerberg, it just has to be an early investor so don't get too upset thinking it might be Mr. -"  
  
He can only imagine what his face looked like to make Janice so suddenly back out of the room. "Alright, Mr. Zuckerberg, I will find  _whoever_  is doing this! Just stay calm! We'll find whoever it is!"  
  
\--  
  
Ruth met Saul in 1947. He had just opened a button factory on the Lower East Side and was looking for a secretary. Saul was 23 and Ruth was 22 and it was love at first sight. They were married five weeks after they met, because that's how people did it in those days and besides, when you knew, you knew. Saul was endlessly creative, a tinker by nature. It was part of what Ruth loved most about him.  
  
By 1951 they'd had their first child and Saul had patented four improvements to the button machines. Now, button patents might not sound like a big deal to you, but do you have any idea how many buttons are made every day? The money started coming in and Saul started investing.  
  
Basically, the Goldmans did quite well, thankyouverymuch, with investing and inventing. Saul had a nose for the next big thing and he had particular affection for start-ups and BIG ideas because he was a bold thinker and unafraid to take risks. It was part of what Ruth loved most about him. Ruth had a quick mind too. In-between holding babies on her hips, she read the financial times and made investment suggestions and the two of them made a pretty good team.  
  
After 56 years of marriage (Saul sent her a dozen roses every anniversary, a hand-written card attached that said  _Each year more than before_ ) the Goldmans had five children, eleven grandchildren, one great-grandchild, four homes, and, yes, a few million dollars.   
  
They were in their house in San Francisco in 2003 when Saul heard about Facebook from a circle of his Silicon Valley investor friends. Some of them were skittish, but Ruth and Saul both agreed it sounded like a promising idea. Why not, after all? The Goldmans believed that investment, like life, was all about risk. They were second generation Facebook investors and, really, it turned out quite well for them.

\--

Mark hadn't slept in just about 26 hours. It had nothing to do with the rumor about a founder selling shares, OK? He wasn't anxious or nervous about that because he didn't care. Let...let... _whoever_  sell off all their shares and walk away and never look back. None of his business. He was just coding really hard, is all. So he wasn't at all relieved when Janice knocked on his office door and tentatively walked in.  
  
"I've found the investor, Mr. Zuckerberg," she smiled. "It's not Mr. Sav - um - " she quickly ( _smartly_ ) bit off that word. "It's not a founder. It's a second generation investor, a woman by the name of Ruth Goldman. She and her husband have a 1% share, which Mrs. Goldman is now going to sell."  
  
"Who? I've never even -"  
  
"Mr. Zuckerberg, there were dozens of second and third generation investors I'm sure you never encountered. Usually they don't sell off their shares all at once. Or ... at all, really. But Mrs. Goldman is quite insistent."  
  
"Well...fine," Mark bites out. It's not the best PR, he guesses, he's not sure how the news item became about a founder and he's not sure why anyone would want to sell off Facebook but that's none of his concern. Janice and her crew can take care of the rest. Mark's not interested any more. Not that he was ever interested, really, it was more like a, a, friendly puzzle. He wasn't ever panicked about it or anything. What does he care, remember?  
  
"The thing is, Mr. Zuckerberg," Janice says cautiously, her smile growing tight "the thing is, I was under the impression that you - you wanted to meet with this person and, well, Mrs. Goldman was quite insistent about meeting up with you herself. So, um, she's here now, Mr. Zuckerberg and she's not going away until you speak with her."

Mark sighs. "Well, good job on tracking her down, Janice. I guess I can spend a minute with her. Go ahead and send her in."  
  
Other people might mean "a minute" as a euphemism, but Mark means a literal minute. He has his speech planned out. A handshake.  _"Sorry about the confusion, Mrs. Goldman, enjoy the money you'll get from selling, thanks for being an early investor, have a nice day, feel free to stop by the caf and have the chef whip you up something, goodbye."_  Maybe less than a minute. How long could that take?  
  
Mark wasn't quite sure what he was expecting. Maybe one of those wispy, willowy women with a cloud of silvery hair that seemed to always be brunching and playing tennis with his Mom. But Ruth Goldman is a solidly built woman several inches shorter than him. She's dressed in a smart black business suit with a single strand of pearls. Her curly hair is pure white, her sharp eyes a bright blue. She could almost be his Bubbe and she's 70 years old if she's a day. She moves slowly but with purpose right towards Mark.  
  
He's got his hand sticking out almost by instinct and he's not surprised at all to find Ruth Goldman's handshake is solid. "Mr. Zuckerberg, a pleasure."   
  
There's a determined glint in her eye and Mark suddenly has the feeling he's not getting out of this in a minute.  
  
\--  
  
Mark decides the best way to deal with it is to just plunge ahead. He takes a deep breath and goes for it. "Sorry about the mix-up, Mrs. Goldman, but I appreciate you coming out. Anyway, good luck with the sale, I think you'll regret it but you and your husband are free to do what you wish. Anyway, I'm sure you're as busy as me so if you'll -"  
  
(She still hasn't let go of his hand and she's still staring at him as if - as if - she knows something he doesn't.)  
  
Mrs. Goldman finally lets go of his hand. "But Mr. Zuckerberg, don't you want to know why I decided to sell my shares?"  
  
"No, Mrs. Goldman, that's really you and your husband's business. So, I'm sure you're -"  
  
"They're just my shares, Mr. Zuckerberg," she shifts her gaze away from him for a moment. "My husband, Saul, passed away last year."  
  
"Oh - I," Mark feels awkward and uncomfortable in all the wrong ways. What exactly is happening here? How did he get roped into this? "I'm, uh, sorry about that."  
  
Mrs. Goldman meets his eyes again. "Ach, well. We had 63 good years, Mr. Zuckerberg, that's more than most people can say, yes?"  
  
"Uhm, yes?"  
  
"How many people, after all, can say they got to spend a whole lifetime with their best friend, hmm? Why sometimes it was almost like," she paused here and stared at Mark in a way that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Which was ... weird. "it was almost like Saul was my  _only_  friend, like I had  _one_  friend."   
  
"I - I -I'm s-s-sorry," Mark stuttered, taking an awkward step back from Mrs. Goldman. "W-w-w-hat did you just say?"  
  
And she ... she looked right at him and  _smiled_.

Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the smile Mark would classify as  _devious_  slipped from her face. "Oh, I'm sorry, did I say something?" She asked, an air of innocence that felt, well,  _fake_  in her voice.  
  
"No, no," he tried to recover, tried to shake it off. It was just a coincidence. It had to be a coincidence. "It's nothing, I'm just - look, Mrs. Goldman, you should really -"  
  
She cuts him off. "Oy, can't old lady rest her tired feet?" And before Mark can do anything else, like say that he strongly suspects Ruth Goldman has never had tired feet in her life because that sounds like a weakness she would not permit and this is only after knowing her for five minutes, she has taken a seat in his office.   
  
She's shuffled off to his left and settled down in the big, comfy chair that Dustin, on his last visit out to Palo Alto, had assured him was  _totally choice, man_. The chair is directly across from the couch he's spent one too many nights crashing on and now her back is facing him. If he wants to talk to this crazed Bubbe, which he now must apparently do to get her out of his office, he's gonna have to come around and either stand in front of her awkwardly or sit down on the couch.  
  
Mark, like a good Jewish grandson, sits.

\--

"Do you want to know the first time I ever saw you, Mr. Zuckerberg?"  
  
He shrugs, one of his really mean shrugs, the type that shows how little he cares as the whole world slides off his shoulders.   
  
"It was in 2007 at a charity dinner for a technology initiative for girls. I always liked charities that supported girls' educations, since I have three girls of my own, you know. So, Saul and I were long-time donors and we thought, ah the dinner would be a nice night out. And there you were!"  
  
Mark racks his brain. He doesn't go to so many of those stupid charity events (of course he means the  _events_  are stupid, not the charities. One of the fun parts of having so much fucking money is that he can give it away.) that he can't remember them, but they do tend to blur together after awhile. Especially one from three years ago.   
  
Mrs. Goldman continues, her eyes shining. "Saul pointed you out from across the room. 'Ruthie,' he said 'that's the boy that made us a whole lot of money.' That's how Saul was, he thought of your work, not of his investment. Saul and I didn't see any reason to go talk to you, but you did look so  _young_ , Mr. Zuckerberg, just a little older than one of my grandsons. So, maybe I was watching you a little more closely than I expected. And that's how I saw  _you_  watching  _him_."  
  
Oh, damn. Mark remembers that event.

\--

It was the first time he'd seen Eduardo in almost nine months. The last time, Mark had walked into some technology event in New York and Eduardo had shook hands with the woman he was talking with and walked out the other door. Mark had a sinking feeling the rest of his life was going to play out the same way.  
  
But there he was at this ridiculous charity dinner and Mark hated Chris,  _hated_  him for leaving just to get some guy elected President because Chris wouldn't have let this happen, he  _wouldn't_. And Mark stared across the room and felt something hard and tight in his chest and waited for Eduardo to walk out the other door the second he saw him but - that charity dinner, that was the first time he didn't.  
  
\--  
  
"I see you remember now, hmmm?" Mrs. Goldman interrupts his thoughts.  
  
"No, Mrs. Goldman. I -"  
  
She clicked her tongue reproachfully. "Please, Mr. Zuckerberg, call me Ruth."  
  
He gulped. "Ruth, I, um, I don't know what you mean. I don't -  
  
"Of course you remember, Mr. Zuckerberg," she clucks her tongue again. "No one forgets looking at someone like you were looking at that boy. I hoped Saul knew who he was. And he did, of course. 'Another one of the boys that helped us make money, Ruthie, the very first investor.' And I knew Saul approved of that. He liked investors,  _people_ , who took big risks. Like your Mr. Saverin did. I watched you that whole night, Mr. Zuckerberg. No one noticed, of course, because who ever notices a nice little old lady? And you didn't notice because you weren't  _just_ looking at that boy were you?"  
  
_No_ , Mark remembers, his mouth suddenly going dry,  _he wasn't_.  
  
\--  
  
"You know, I can see you staring."   
  
Mark had turned to the bar to get a beer, to pull his eyes off Eduardo, to do  _something_  besides try to avoid small talk.  
  
Eduardo's voice didn't even tremble but Mark's hand, holding the beer, did.  
  
"I wasn't staring," he said, breathing slowly, not turning around. "I was just waiting for you to run out the door."  
  
"I have never run away from you, Mark."  
  
( _what did that even mean?_ )  
  
Mark turned now to face him, wasn't exactly surprised to see his face twisted up in some mix of pain and anger and...disappointment? There were so many things Mark wanted to say, they all got crowded in his throat. "Oh really? Yet you walking out of every event I've walked into and your failure to attend a single shareholder meeting in person in the past ten months seems to indicate otherwise, Eduardo." Mark rolls his name, his full fucking name, off his tongue like it's designed to cut. And by the way Eduardo winces, it looks like it did.   
  
How did the very last thing he wanted to say, the worst thing, come out of his mouth?  
  
Eduardo's eyes went wide and dark. He stepped towards Mark, got right in his personal space. He leaned forward, so close Mark could feel his breath against his cheek. "That wasn't running away," he hissed. "that was a conscious, deliberate choice. You know, kinda like how you set me up. Just like this is."  
  
Without another word, he turned and walked away from Mark.  
  
\--  
  
"I couldn't hear what you said, of course, but I knew it was bad. Do you remember how hard you were shaking when he left, Mr. Zuckerberg? How you stumbled off to the bathroom and stayed in there for almost 20 minutes? I do," Ruth's tone was low and gentle now, like she could  _possibly_  fathom what that had felt like, his first conversation with Eduardo in almost two years without lawyers and it turned out like ...  _that_.   
  
Mark remembers running to the bathroom, locking himself in a stall and throwing up the stupid party food until he was dry heaving and shaking.   
  
Ruth continued, her voice still soothing. "I knew, I knew right then, that there was something between you and Mr. Saverin. And I knew it had gone terribly wrong. And I knew I was going to have to do something to help."

"I told Saul and he thought it was silly but charming. And, of course, he did love to indulge me. Do you know what that's like, Mr. Zuckerberg? To have a partner who just hates having to say no to you? Who indulges you? Who supports you through it all?  Who is THERE for you? We ended up going to many other events you went to in 2008. Who'd notice an old Jewish couple like us, huh? I should thank you for those times, Mr. Zuckerberg. How fun it was to get dressed up and go out and nosh and chat and even sometimes dance! Those were good times for me and Saul! He'd say 'Are we on the look-out for your boys, Ruthie?' with such humor in his voice. But we didn't see the two of you together again until almost a year later, at the end of 2008. Do you remember that?"  
  
Of course Mark did. November of 2008, some fundraiser for global warming, one of Eduardo's pet causes. That was the first time in so long they'd exchanged words without spite and anger.  
  
\--  
  
He doesn't stare now. He doesn't even look. Maybe that's why he really is surprised when Eduardo, a drink in his hand so maybe that explains it, finds him lurking with his phone by a plant ( _trying to get some damn work done_ ) and says with a flat note of disinterest in his voice, "If you care so little why do you bother coming to these things?"  
  
And Mark does what he's been subconsciously practicing for almost a year. He just has a second to breathe, to let anger and panic and maybe embarrassment and all these other feelings he can't name run through his brain, he just  _feels_  it for a second, doesn't have to bite out something he'll regret, he just runs the feelings through his head like a line of code and then...then they kind of make sense and he feels like he can handle them, like he can write another line.   
  
"Of course I care, I just don't care about the events. Is that so weird?"  
  
What a perfectly reasonable thing to say. Eduardo looks ... surprised? "Um, I ... since when do you care about global warming?"  
  
"Since I like the planet and I don't want to die? And I have so much money it's frankly stupid so I might as well do something good with it? I'm not a meteorology nerd or anything but I can still care about the environment." And Mark smiles: smiles like that's what you'd do if you wanted to be nice to someone, not push them away, smiles like that's the next line of code, smiles like it doesn't hurt.  
  
Eduardo falters, he's more than surprised now. His eyes go wide, he shakes his head like he's expecting an ambush. Mark keeps smiling.   
  
Then ... Eduardo smiles back and Mark feels a thrill like that was the  _right line of code_  and it  _doesn't hurt_. "I can't believe Mark Zuckerberg just called  _me_  a nerd," Eduardo says, hints of a familiar laugh in his voice.  
  
Just a hint. But still.  
  
"A high honor, indeed." Mark nodded his head.   
  
Eduardo raised his glass in a toast and smiled that ridiculous smile Mark pretended he never thought about and retreated back to the party.  
  
\--  
  
"You saw -" Mark can't quite finish the question or meet Ruth's eyes.  
  
"We did, Saul and I. We saw your little tête-à-tête by the plant. When the boy raised his glass to you and you smiled so big! Saul held my hand, Mr. Zuckerberg, gave me a little squeeze and he said, 'Ruthie, I think you might be right about those two.'  _Might_  be! The chutzpah of that man," Ruth shook her head fondly as if she was remembering something very sweet indeed. (this makes Mark feel a brief flare of something in his chest that feels strangely like ... jealousy?)  
  
"But I knew I was right, Mr. Zuckerberg. I knew I was. That's when I decided I had to do more than watch. I had to  _do_  something for you two."

There. She said it, the crazy thing he's been suspecting. This woman, who he's never met, she thinks she's gonna  _do_  something for him and ... him. This - this just might be the strangest thing that's ever happened to him and that's no little thing. "How did you think you -" Mark begins, unsure how to even complete the sentence.  
  
But she cuts him off with a wave of her hand. "I was set to figure something out. Don't ever underestimate a very clever and determined Jewish Bubbe with five children and a several million dollars, Mr. Zuckerberg."  
  
He couldn't help it, he smiled. Ruth had a twinkle in her eye too.  
  
"But then," she said, her face growing serious. "Then, in February of last year, Saul got sick."  
  
And Mark, without even really knowing why, winces.  
  
\--  
  
"Cancer, they said. He'd just turned 85. It was the beginning of February. The doctor was very kind. He said that Saul had a month, maybe two. But he didn't know Saul! I think when you get cancer at 85 you're supposed to die quietly and quickly, but that wasn't my Saul. No, Mr. Zuckerberg, he was the kind of man who never took no for an answer, who thought five steps ahead, who knew what he wanted and never settled for less. He reminds you, maybe, of anyone you know?" She inclined her head and looked at him.   
  
"We went back to New York, the first property we ever bought. But we weren't there more than a week when we knew we missed the sunshine and the way the ocean smells. We came back to California. The children, the grandchildren, came, stayed for weeks at a time. We even had Leah's son's bris! And Mr. Zuckerberg, I know you will find this part hard to believe but, for us, this was was a special, lovely time. We had a chance to appreciate every second together, to know how lucky we were to have each other. Do you know how many people wish they could have that? Ach, what a  _gift_!"  
  
Mark bit his lip and wished he was brave enough to break her gaze. But Ruth kept her eyes on him the whole time. If she wouldn't look away, he couldn't either.  
  
"He made it four months, then five, then six. September was our 62 wedding anniversary. Sixty two years! He made sure to send me flowers, just like he had every year. That was my Saul! And then it was October, the fall. And he knew he wasn't going to make it much longer. It was time."  
  
Mark did not want it to be time. Mark did not want to be hearing any of this.   
  
"Shortly before he died, he held my hand and said, 'Ruthie, thank you for our life. Thank you for always taking the risk with me.' And I laughed, Mr. Zuckerberg, I did! I told him, 'What risk? I loved you from the first time I saw you, I knew it was only and always you. What risk?' And then he laughed too because he knew I was right. He said, 'I left you one last gift, Ruthie. You'll know when you find it, you'll know what to do.' But who needed a present, with a man like that?"  
  
Mark swallowed hard.   
  
"He died, with me right by his side, two days later."

Mark shot up from the couch as if on instinct. He took a deep, shuddery breath and he felt, wildly, almost like he had  _tears_  in his eyes.  
  
"I'll - I'll get us some water," he blurted. He crossed to his office door, swung it open, stuck his head out. He shouted to his assistant, louder than he meant, "Um, Paul, can you bring me some water? Water?" Before Paul had a chance to respond, Mark stepped back inside and pulled the door closed behind him. What was  _wrong_  with him? He took a few shaky steps back to the couch, sat down again across from Ruth.  
  
"Uh - um - I'm so, so sorry," he said this before, he knows, but that was before he knew it wasn't just Ruth's husband who passed away, it was  _Saul_. Ruth is looking at him as if she feels sorry for  _him_ , which is strange and before he can say anything else she is leaning forward and very gently patting  _his_  hand, which is definitely even stranger and so he says something, the first thing he can think of to break the tension he's feeling. "You - um - you can call me Mark."  
  
\--  
  
"It was a blur for a while, I can't lie. I went back to New York, the children took care of me. My life went white for a while. Do you know what that's like, maybe, Mark? When everything hurts and you decide you just won't deal with life anymore so you just shut everyone out? For a while I did that! But grandchildren! And life. Life keeps happening, I couldn't stop either. And then I had to come back to California anyway, because I got the letter."  
  
Mark gulped from the water bottle Paul had brought in.   
  
"My Saul, even to the end, he was prepared, even to the end, he was seeing the whole picture. He'd arranged everything involving his own estate. Hired a law firm, divided things up for the family, set up executors, you name it! It was the law firm that contacted me, just as Saul had requested, and asked me to come back to California to begin dealing with the estate. Well, Saul and I were partners, so I couldn't let him down. You know how it is with partners, don't you Mark? How important the right partner is? You need someone who's there for you, who wants to help if there's something wrong, if there's ever  _anything_  wrong."   
  
Ruth quirked her mouth up into a knowing smile. And Mark felt that weird tickle at the back of his neck, the one he'd felt when she'd first began talking. "I - um - I'm not good at  _partners_ ," he stuttered.  
  
"Oh, I'm not so sure about that. Besides, it's too early to decide that, hmm?"  
  
Mark looked at his hands, the water bottle, anywhere but at Ruth. But when she started speaking again, he had to look back up.  
  
"I came back to California and started working with the firm on all of Saul's affairs. I wasn't sure why he'd set it all up, he had to know I'd take care of it. But the lawyer the firm assigned to me assured me that Saul had come to them, this firm we never used before, with specific instructions. Who was I argue? They did good work and it was what Saul wanted. And the lawyer they assigned me, ach, she was a sweet girl, smart too! It was good to be doing work again, to be of use. She and I worked well together. It wasn't long before I decided she was a perfect match for my son Isaac, my only child who hadn't yet found the right person. I have an instinct about these things, you know, and sometimes, well maybe I meddle in matchmaking."  
  
It was Ruth who shrugged here and Mark, almost against his will, actually laughed out loud.  
  
"So, I decided to find out more about her, always the first step in matchmaking! That's how I found out that Saul had met her when he came into their firm. She didn't know it until after he died, but he'd specifically requested  _her_  to take the lead on our account. So, then I thought I had it! I thought  _this_  was Saul's gift! He'd thought she was good for Issac too and he put me and her together so I'd figure it out. This was what Saul had wanted! Saul wanted me to make a match with Isaac and our lawyer!"  
  
Ruth stopped and sipped from her water bottle. She gave Mark one long, appraising look and he felt that same tickle of apprehension. "Yes," Ruth said slowly "that's what I was supposed to! Introduce Issac to our lawyer: Miss Marylin Delpy."

\--

Mark has a split second to be glad he wasn't taking a drink of water, because if he had been, he would have actually done a spit-take, the kind he's only seen in bad 1980s sitcoms, spewing water in surprise all over poor Ruth Goldman.  
  
For her part, Ruth watched Mark do a  _mental_  spit-take as if that was just exactly what she'd been planning. And Mark suspected it was.  
  
"Ah, Ms. Delpy, such a charming,  _caring_  young woman. We connected, not just as lawyer and client. And the more we talked, the more I knew she was perfect for Isaac! Such a good choice Saul had made, I thought. And then, one afternoon when we were reviewing shares and stocks, we came across those Facebook shares. I hadn't thought about you and your Mr. Saverin in so long, but there were those shares! But maybe I wouldn't have given it another thought, at least until I'd made more progress in Saul's estate and with Marylin and Issac. Except Marylin, who was now not just a lawyer but my friend, she had something to say about those shares, Mark!"  
  
Mark still thinks about Marylin Delpy sometimes. He thinks about how she was the only person in those depositions who ever looked at him with kind eyes. He thinks, often, about the last thing she told him.  _you're just trying so hard to be_. He wasn't. He wanted to tell her he wasn't and he never had been. It just - it just happened that way sometimes. He'd wondered if Marylin Delpy ever thought about him as more than an interesting case.  
  
"It had been her first case with the firm, she said, all those years ago. It took just a little bit of prompting from me and she told me  _all_  about it. It was almost like, Mark, she'd been waiting all this time to really tell someone about. She told me everything. She told me about how you weren't what everyone thought, she told me about how sometimes she thought you might start crying and no one even noticed that, least of all you. She told me how smart and mean and funny you were. And then she told me the part I knew that she'd never told anyone."  
  
Mark shifts on the couch, slouches back. He has a sinking suspicion he knows what Marylin Delpy said.   
  
Ruth continues. "Marylin looked at me over our afternoon lunch and leaned forward and almost whispered to me, as if she was ashamed of saying it,  _'Ruth, you know, once or twice I thought maybe what was happening had nothing to do with Facebook or shares or even money. I looked at him and I looked at Eduardo and I saw the two of them not looking at each other and I thought maybe - it was about - about -'_  and she couldn't finish the sentence, Mark, but *I* could. I reached over and squeezed her hand and felt Saul, there, in the room with us. 'Love,' I told her, saying the word my dear, rational Marylin didn't want to say. 'It was about  _love_.' And she smiled back at me and I knew I was right."  
  
And there it was. The one word Mark had  _never_  even let himself say out loud.   
  
_Love_.

\--

"So, I told Marylin Delpy part of my story, Mark. How I saw you and your Mr. Saverin at some events and how I saw the same thing she saw! She was relieved, you know, to have someone else see it. But I told her I was sure lots of other people  _had_  seen it, but she and I were probably the first to ever actually talk about it. I think that you and your Mr. Saverin got pretty good at making everyone ignore that elephant in the room, hmm, Mark?"  
  
Mark wants to tell her to please stop saying  _your_  because Eduardo wasn't his had never been his and no one noticed because - he thinks back to the first rental house on the day after Eduardo had flown back to New York. Dustin was exhausted after a coding tear and dozing in the sun. Half-deliriously, he'd blinked up when Mark walked outside. "Mark," he'd said, his voice lazy. "When're you gonna just get it over with and kiss Wardo already?" Mark had stared at him incomprehensibly, pretended he had been speaking in another language and, without a word, dove into the pool. So, OK, maybe a few other people had noticed the elephant.  
  
"I - I - don't ..." and then he just stops, stops and shrugs his shoulders. Because what the fuck? He just doesn't want to lie anymore.  
  
"Yes, exactly," Ruth nodded. "So, I convinced Marylin I needed to read the complete depositions transcripts. Now, some of these are public record, of course, but some aren't. But Marylin ... she trusted me, of course, and she wanted to make me happy. What could it hurt, she thought? She agreed to bring them by my house that very night. And, what a coincidence, I just happened to invite Issac over that night too!"  
  
And there was that twinkle in Ruth Goldman's eyes, the mischievous sparkle, the one Mark already felt like he knew quite well. Poor Marylin, Mark would bet she'd never known what hit her.   
  
"Well, of course she came for dinner. And, of course, I made sure we had a very lovely night before we ever even mentioned the package she brought. It wasn't hard, you know, she and Isaac were instantly drawn to each other. I have quite a head for things like that, I'll have you know! But after dinner, we got down to business. The transcripts were in three huge boxes, she'd brought me everything. Just as I was about to rip the lid off the first one and start reading, Marylin put her hand over mine and said, 'Wait, Ruth, there's something you need to know.'"  
  
Here, Ruth paused and reached down to her side. She picked up the big, black purse she'd brought with her and opened the gold clasp. She pulled out a piece of paper and set it gently on her lap.  
  
"What she told me, Mark, even I did not believe. 'When I went to pull the transcripts today, the law librarian told me she'd been waiting for me. She said Sy Ableman had left instructions for when I came to pull the Zuckerberg filings. It was if Sy was expecting me to do just that. He wasn't trying to keep me from them, he just requested I take something else with them. And that was this.' And then, Mark," Ruth paused to pat the paper on her lap as if it were precious. "Marylin leaned over and handed me an envelope with my name written on it.

And then she was handing the letter over to him, without another word, she was holding the letter out for Mark to read. His hands were not shaking  _at all_  when he took it from her. Not in the slightest.  
  
\--  
  
_My dearest Ruthie,  
  
So here you finally are! You've found my last gift to you! I wanted to leave you something special. It wasn't hard for me to find out the name of the firm that represented Mr. Zuckerberg during those lawsuits. And what do you know? Sy Ableman plays golf with people who know our people and here we are! I had a meeting with him in May and told him I was interested in having his firm take over our entire estate. Now, Ruthie, you know we don't talk a lot about out money, but that was a pretty big incentive for any firm. He agreed right away and when I told him I had just one stipulation, it wasn't a problem.  
  
I told him my dearest wife had a particular interest in one of his former clients: the illustrious Mr. Mark Zuckerberg. I said I heard he handled the Zuckerberg lawsuits and that I wanted HIM to handle OUR account personally so that maybe he could share some stories with you. (I thought I'd take it easy on him, Ruthie, not let him know what he was in store for.)  
  
But he suggested that if you liked Facebook OR Mr. Zuckerberg, it would be better if he took a secondary role and he assigned a junior partner named Marylin Delpy. He said she'd be perfect and had worked on the case. I had lunch with her and I think she's even better than Sy! (also: I think she might be nice for Issac. Think about it, eh?)  
  
Sy let me read the full depositions, all those afternoons you thought I was out with the boys, I was here at the firm reading them. I knew, Ruthie, that because you are my clever, brilliant girl, you'd eventually put all the pieces together and decide you needed to see the the full depositions. (Why didn't we ever think about that before, eh?) So I've left you this note for when you do.  
  
At first, my last gift was just supposed to be finding the firm Mr. Zuckerberg used, I thought you'd appreciate that. But then I read the depositions, Ruthie! Remember that night when we saw them over by the plants? I teased that you were right but - Ruthie, I think you're right. Read the transcripts, think about that night! Who'd've guessed?! (besides you, of course.)  
  
Ruthie: thank you, my dearest heart, for a lifetime of love and support brainstorming and adventures. Sixty-two years wasn't long enough. But I want you, even though I am gone, to dream big dreams and live your life with all the love we shared. I want you, please, to keep your joyful heart and your bright spirit.   
  
So this is my last gift for you, Ruthie:  
  
_ go save those boys! _  
  
Love, forever, love,  
  
-Saul_  
  
\--  
  
Mark closes his eyes against the wave of emotion he's feeling. He tries to do his breathing exercise, where he just  _feels_ , but there's too much to feel in this moment, he can't name all the emotions roiling through him. His hands are shaking, but he folds the letter up very carefully.   
  
He opens his eyes and looks to Ruth, who is staring at him with a clear, unblinking gaze. She cocks her head to the side and waits, for the first time since he's met her, for Mark to make the next move.  
  
Mark sets the letter down on the table between him and Ruth. He wants to wait for her to start talking again, but he knows from the steely way she has fixed her gaze on him she's expecting  _him_  to talk now. He just not quite sure how to speak through all the emotions he's feeling.  
  
"You - he - you - " Mark sputters. Then the words rush out, frantic. "It's not like  _that_. It doesn't work like that. What did you think would happen? That - that you'd just say you  _think_  you can  _begin_  to understand - to know - what happened between me and War- Eduardo and I'd - I'd see the light and rush out the door and fly to Singapore and fall into his arms? That you'd tell me a story about your life and some things you saw at some parties and I'd - I'd - it doesn't happen that way!" Mark runs his fingers through his hair, feels angry and helpless because it's all so ridiculous and because, because  _it_  doesn't  _work that way_. Not that he wants it to, exactly, but -  
  
Verbose Ruth Goldman, who's spent the last twenty minutes talking to Mark almost non-stop, looks right at him and says, simply, "I read the depositions."  
  
"That doesn't -"  
  
"Do you remember, Mark?" Ruth interrupts, calmly. "When Eduardo's lawyer objected to Sy using Eduardo's first name only? But Sy? He said that you two were -"  
  
"I know!" Mark half-shouts. She doesn't have to tell him, she doesn't have to say it. Mark sometimes rolls that moment over and over in his memory, sharp enough to cut. How stupid, to still call Eduardo his best friend. Stupid - stupid - stupid.  
  
"I talked to Marylin too, Mark. She told me about everything she saw, everything unspoken, unsaid, that wasn't in the transcripts."  
  
Mark looks down at his feet, slumps back. "There's nothing she could have ..." he mutters.  
  
Ruth tut-tuts and shakes her head at Mark. "Now we both know that's not true, don't we Mark?"  
  
"So what's all this about then? What about your shares? How did the press think it was a founder? Why did you -"  
  
Ruth interrupted him with the smallest shrug of her shoulders. "My oldest daughter, Esther. She's some mucky-muck at Bloomberg doing something with that degree from Yale, you know. It wasn't hard to convince her to plant a story for her dear old mother. It wasn't all a story, either. I  _did_  let some people on the market know I was interested in selling my shares. Esther just made sure there was the barest hint that the person interested in selling was a founder. I knew when you heard that, you'd do two things. You'd decide to track down the truth of the story, which is how I'd get to meet with you, and you'd panic thinking your Mr. Saverin was going to -"  
  
Mark doesn't mean to blurt it out. "He's not  _my_  anything!" Mark sits up straight, leans forward towards Ruth, looks her right in the eyes and tries, tries to hard to get away with the lie. "And I didn't panic - I didn't even  _care_!"

Ruth stares back and he knows she sees the lie. "I just wanted you to think, that's all, really think about what it would be like if it  _was_  him. If he was selling all his shares and your chances of seeing him again, across the room at some party, were drastically reduced, maybe even eliminated. I just wanted you to think about how it felt to think he was selling, trying to get away from Facebook, totally away from it. What did he say? 'This is  _our_  thing'?" She quirked her eyebrows at him.   
  
"I thought," Ruth continued. "That maybe if you had some time to think about that, not panic, of course not, not you, no panic, but  _think_  you might realize you didn't want any of that to happen. I guessed, Mark, from what Marylin told me, from the way I saw you look at that boy and shake when he walked away from you, I guessed that you never forgot that he thought it was  _your_  thing. I guessed that you felt bad about some of the things that made so much sense at 19, that when  _your best friend_  told you his father wouldn't even look at him you wished that maybe, just maybe, you'd done some things differently."  
  
Mark couldn't help it, he winced.   
  
"I thought maybe I could be a reminder for you, Mark, about some of the things you didn't like to be reminded of. And, yes, Mark, I wanted to tell you about Saul. I wanted to tell you about a man who was brave enough to take chances, even when sometimes they didn't work out. I thought that maybe if I told you about Saul, that could help you think,  _really think_ , about what you want to say about the next sixty two years of your life."  
  
She leaned forward and picked up her husband's letter from the table between them. "Do you want to say 'I wish I had taken a risk' or do you want to say 'Sixty two years wasn't long enough'?"

There was a moment of silence that felt like it went on forever.  
  
Mark finally broke down. “So what, exactly, do you suggest I –“  
  
“Suggest? Oh, I would never be as bold to try to suggest what a man such as yourself should do, Mark. Little old me?”  
  
Mark burst out laughing. It sounded more than a little hysterical, even to him.  
  
“Besides, I think you know what you should do.” She opened her purse and placed her husband’s letter back inside, carefully, reverently.   
  
She stood from her chair and gave Mark’s office and appraising glance. “My Saul, he believed in this idea, you know. He thought your Facebook could be something great. Who did  _you_  have, Mark? You shouldn’t turn your back on people who  _believe_. That’s worth something more than, what’d they offer me? $300 million? Eh, money.” She shrugged, a gesture intimately familiar to Mark.   
  
“You know, I don’t think I’ll sell my shares after all. I think I’ll wait and see what direction this company goes in.”  
  
She stuck her hand out. “Thank you for taking the time to see me today, Mr. Mark Zuckerberg. I appreciate all your time and attention.”  
  
Mark did his breathing, tried to think, feel, through the thousand feelings rushing around in his head. He was kind of feeling like this was the longest day of his life: from the Google alert that had pinged his phone at 3 AM with the story from Bloomberg to the moment Ruth Goldman had walked into his office and started talking, right up to this exact second. He thought of the confusion and  _dread_  that had knotted his stomach when the Bloomberg story reported it was a founder selling, the wild rush of relief when it had turned out to be some random woman. He thought, strangely, of a man he’d never met, a man who took a chance on Facebook: Saul Goldman. He thought about him twirling Ruth around a dance floor, about him watching Mark from across a room.   
  
Before he was even entirely conscious of what he was doing, Mark felt his arms wrap around Ruth Goldman. Without a second’s hesitation she reached up and hugged him back, patting his back lightly. He stepped back from her and nodded once, resolutely.   
  
“Mrs. Goldman – Ruth. I can’t thank you – I think that you’ll be pleased with your decision to hold on to your shares. I’d – I’d offer you a personal tour but it seems I have a previous engagement in, um, Asia. I really must be going.”  
  
The smile she gave him was blinding. 

++  
  
_epilogue_

Mark and Eduardo are married in a small (but lovely) June ceremony three months to the day after Ruth Goldman showed up in Mark’s office. Mark acknowledges that to some people this might seem sudden but when you knew, you knew.   
  
(On his third visit to Singapore, Mark had drug Eduardo to Chinatown.   
  
He’d groaned “Are we really playing tourist?” but Mark had just shushed him until they arrived at the [Thian Hock Keng temple](http://www.thianhockkeng.com.sg/home.html), where even Eduardo was silenced by [the sight](http://www.google.com/images?q=Thian+Hock+Keng&oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&source=og&sa=N&hl=en&tab=wi&biw=1280&bih=619).  
  
Mark pulled him aside, got down on one knee and pulled out a ring box.   
  
_“No sense in doing it unless you do it right,” Ruth had told Mark before he left._  
  
“Wardo, I – I brought you here because I – the translated name of this place is the Temple of Heavenly Happiness and when I think about happiness, well, what I mean is  _you_  make me very happy and nothing would make me happier than if you'd let me try for the rest of our lives to make you as happy as ... wait – ” Mark paused, looked up at Eduardo who was gazing at him with a stunned expression on his face. “Oh God, am I doing this wrong?”  
  
“No, Mark – no!” Eduardo seemed to snap back into the moment. He shook his head then smiled softly. “Please ... finish.”  
  
And just like that, Mark forgot all about the people staring and his hesitation and fear and he popped open the ring box to reveal a simple, worn gold band. (It might not look like much, but it had cost a lot back in 1947 and had held up pretty damn well since then.)  
  
“Wardo, will you marry me?”  
  
Eduardo didn’t even blink. “Of course, Mark, yes, of course.”  
  
And then he was reaching for the ring or maybe for Mark and he was yanking and Mark was standing and they were embracing and kissing.  
  
Eduardo whispered in Mark's ear, "Did you know immigrants used to come here to give thanks for a safe voyage? I'm glad we made it here, Mark."  
  
Mark thinks of just what a voyage it's been. "Me too, Wardo. And ... I know it’s soon, but I – I want to get started on the next sixty two years as quickly as possible.”  
  
Wardo's laugh was the sweetest sound Mark had ever heard.)  
  
If any of their family and friends think it's too soon, they don't mention it. "Too soon?" Mark's father laughs. "You've known him for almost a decade!"  
  
June is Cambridge is beautiful. Chris is so happy he doesn't even mind that Mark and Eduardo beat [him and Sean to the altar](http://nymag.com/daily/intel/2011/01/chris_hughes_engaged.html). Dustin's practically bouncing off the walls and telling everyone that  _he's_  the BEST best man, not Chris. Mark's mother fusses over the flower girls and exchanges knowing looks with Eduardo's mother. (Eduardo's father chose not to attend. Eduardo's mother chose to move out. When Eduardo tried to protest, she'd just shook her head and said "Ay, your friend Ruth is right, why waste any more of my life on a man who doesn't love my son the way he should be loved?") At the reception, Marylin Delpy, newly engaged to Isaac Goldman, hugs Eduardo hard and tells Mark she'll think about his offer to become in-house counsel for Facebook.  
  
And if anyone thought it was strange that a small, elderly woman with a mass of white curls [broke the glass](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jewish_wedding#Breaking_the_glass) at the end of the ceremony instead of the two grooms, they didn't have time to mention it over her leading the cries of  _Mazel tov!_

_\--_

It's been two years since Ruth walked into Mark and Eduardo's life. For her 87h birthday, they tried to give her more shares in Facebook, but she'd just laughed and pinched their cheeks.   
  
Now Mark gets to watch her play doting Bubbe to the little boy he and Eduardo adopted. "There's my twelfth grandbaby," she'll say, smiling, taking the little boy from Eduardo's arms. "My little Saul," she coos, nuzzling him as he kicks with delight at hearing his name said with such love.  
  
And Mark is so ridiculously grateful for every risk he's ever taken, he reaches out for his husband's hand and squeezes tight, watches their little boy giggle.  
  
It's going to be an amazing sixty-two years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is just pure fiction. Although, again, anyone with that many shares didn't necessarily have to be a founder. So I made an OC. A lovely little lady who 'ships them as hard as we do! As for the business stuff and shares and all that, uh... PRETEND IT MAKES SENSE, I GUESS, AND THAT I KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT BUSINESS AND INVESTING? Go with it!


End file.
